May 15

May 15 Traveling Through the Discomfort

Around the middle of our year-long adventure, there was a two month period where I can remember always having some level of pain, somewhere on my body…here is the story.

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We arrived into Zermatt Switzerland by train on Saturday, January 13th; the excitement for the upcoming 3 weeks of skiing was unbearable. We checked into our slope side chalet, which was to be our home for the next 20 nights (the extended nature of the stay was unlike any other that we had to that point), and fell asleep quite easily after dinner. The next day (Sunday) was filled with grocery shopping, ski gear renting/purchasing, and dialing down ski lessons for the kids. Oh, and by the way, it was snowing HEAVILY. I mean, it was coming down, dumping...it was the first significant snow storm of the season for the area and after all was said and done I think it placed close to 2 feet of much needed fresh powder onto the existing hard-pack, as well as all the exposed areas of the mountain. Life was good, this is what we (really I) had been looking forward to for almost a year, and I wasn’t going to let anything get in my path.

The entrance pathway to the front of our rental house was covered in snow.

Monday morning we met the ski instructors for the kids, and they were on their way; then, bliss, zoom, whoosh, POW. One funny thing about Europeans, is they don’t hog the off-piste. I mean, they really love showing off their amazing carving skills on freshly groomed ski runs, like all day long. What does this translate to, you ask?...well, this essentially leaves fresh tracks to be had on the funnest areas of the mountain. Even though that first day a lot of the mountain was closed for safety reasons, I was able to find untouched snow for almost the entire day. What a great start to this adventure, nothing was going to stop me (I mean us); time to head back to the chalet after a great start...man, my toes were cold; really looking forward to that hot-tub, I thought.

The rest of the first week did not disappoint—great skiing, amazing weather, unforgettable euro-style dining for lunch both on the Swiss and Italian sides of the mountain. The kids were dramatically improving their skill set each day, and everything was glorious. We decided to take the weekend off, and that Friday afternoon we hopped on a train out of Zermatt to visit another part of Switzerland for a couple of days, Lausanne (which was a great time).

After the week’s grocery shopping, dinner and an early night, we were up early Monday morning to start another great week of skiing. This time, I had an opportunity to ski with an instructor (Jacob, 2nd coolest guy in Zermatt) for the entire day. He quickly showed me all the things that I was doing wrong and spent the first couple of hours trying to get me to unlearn all my bad habits. When that didn’t quite work the way he wanted, I chuckled to myself and told him that enough was enough, and it was time to get on some of the fluffy off-piste stuff. The fun thing about powder, is that you float like you’re on clouds and it hides all your mistakes, and you giggle like a 5-yr old through every turn. Given that you’re buried up to your shins though, snow and moisture can also creep into your boots and really get your socks quite wet. Speaking of that, I’ve always had fairly cold and numb toes when I’ve skied in cold conditions—maybe due to poor circulation, not really sure...the rest of my body stays nice and warm. But that day, the entire front half of both my feet were completely numb. Suffice it to say, I was really looking forward to the hot-tub. Unfortunately, the craziness of teaching the kids school, making dinner, and doing the dishes meant that I didn’t have time to soak my cold feet...but I knew it would feel even more epic the next day.

That following day held absolutely stunning blue-bird skies as we headed over to the Italy side to bomb some of the longest runs in Europe. That day I chose to ski with a different instructor (Alex, other 2nd coolest guy in Zermatt), who upon observing my mechanics the first few runs looked uncomfortably overwhelmed with the task at hand, so we changed our plan of attack to see how fast we could race down the mountain without hurting ourselves or getting our ski passes taken away. That plan worked really well and I clocked speeds that would make any reasonable person, including myself, nervous. Interestingly, the wind must have been incredibly strong that day rushing through the cracks in my boots because my toes and front half of my feet simply hadn’t thawed from the previous day. I, jokingly, asked Alex on one of our lift rides if he knew what “frostbite” felt like; he said he didn’t, then he thought some more, and proclaimed that “it probably feels pretty cold”...hmm.

That evening we had our buddies Jacob and Alex over for hot tub and dinner. It’s important to note that after dropping my skis off at the shop and all the way walking up to the chalet to host our friends, my toes were still no where to be found on the “feeling my appendages” spectrum. Crap. Something is wrong. I’m really looking forward to that hot-tub. That mantra nagged at me the whole walk back.

When I finally slid into the hot water I instantly “felt” my toes; felt them burning a bit, in fact. A few minutes later I decided to lift my feet out of the water to take a look which was immediately met by a lot of “yuck” and “oh my god” and “wtf” type comments about both of my big toes. As it turns out, they were close to twice their size and it was clear that something was up. Collectively, the hot tub crew decided that it was time for me to see a doctor the following day (I had come to that conclusion long before they did), and later that evening after frantic Google searches and focused Web MD research, I had self-diagnosed myself with Second Degree Frostbite. The following day’s visit to the general physician confirmed the diagnosis. The doctor wrapped my toes up, gave me a tetanus shot, and a prescription of antibiotics. “Doc, what about skiing?” I nervously asked. I was told that the two worst things that could happen to me in the immediate future were, 1) I get an infection or 2) my toes get frozen again. No skiing. Shit. Halfway into my (our) Swiss skiing extravaganza, and this is what happens. I allowed a lot more expletives to run through my mind before hobbling back to the chalet and lying down on the couch in a pit of misery, despair, and self-pity.

This is also the cover photo: The point at which I realized that my frostbite was quite serious.

This photo was shot between wrappings about three weeks after the initial diagnosis.

I spent the next week and a half figuring out how to get through the days watching Aila and the kids have fun on the mountain that was really intended for me (the fun and the mountain both). I hobbled around like the village idiot and took some unnecessary chances by logging a couple of long hikes in my snow boots and a snow-shoes. Besides potentially compromising my recovery, I did manage to score some epic selfies so I’m sure it was worth it. I even convinced myself that it was ok to get in one last day of light skiing with the fam - so against better judgement I purchased some “heated ski socks” (yes, those are a thing, and yes, I have no shame) and had one last day on the mountain. I made sure to take it extra easy and not over-extend myself...and not just because of my toes, but because I was seemly recovering from some illness that came out of nowhere the two days before.

Hiking in Zermatt while recovering from frostbite.

So a quick note about that weird illness...my stomach had been bad all night, I had slight fever, and felt like some kind of harsh 24-hr flu. No big deal. When it rains it pours, feel free to pile it on, thanks. Oh, and a few days after my “24-hr flu,” I had an odd ache/pain in the middle of my back. That pain, continuously grew over the next few days, as we departed Switzerland for North Africa (Morocco). Have you heard of shingles? So, here we were in North Africa, a couple of weeks after getting rocked by second degree frostbite, and I developed a case of shingles. VERY painful. Imagine, if you will, someone holding a handful of sharp needles into your back (the sharp ends), and digging into your skin and not letting up the entire day. Ugh. Here is a pic, super gross (you’re welcome):

Shingles appearing in the middle of my back.

Before we conclude the shingles piece, let me tell you about eating street food on our second night in Morocco. Just to recap, I’m deep into frostbite (gimpishly hobbling around) and it feels as if there is a medieval spear stuck into the middle of my back...but look at the bright side: we’re in warmer weather, and I still have my adventurous and insatiable appetite. Now, is a good time to mention that we are all very adventurous eaters. For six months in central and South America we sampled all kinds of food in restaurants and street-food carts, ate live dung-beetle larvae out of Amazonian rain-forest trees, termites, snails and all kinds of stuff. So, when we were walking around a beach community in Morocco the second evening in North Africa, and smelled chicken and vegetable skewers being grilled on an open flame, there was no question in our minds that this was the way to go. The skewers were tasty...so tasty. What a great dinner, an end to a long day near the coast, and a new beginning - starting to heal my body. Literally, less than 16 hours after feeling like things were on the up and up, Zayan vomited, profusely. All over the sidewalk in front of a cafe. Wow. He was not well. A couple of hours later Kaysan vomited, profusely. A few hours after that, Aila followed. Both Kenza and I were spared from puking, but not spared from the unbelievable stomach cramps and body aches that were associated with the food poisoning that we all had for literally next 2-3 days. Boom. Let’s recap. Deep into frostbite, drone strikes targeted directly in the middle of my back, and now completely debilitating food poisoning. Welcome to North Africa, and the second half of your yearlong family adventure.

Aila sick with food poisoning in Morocco.

We all miraculously recovered from our food illness and continued our Moroccan journey. After having consulted with some medical professionals back home, as well as becoming expert online Web MD self-diagnosers, we decided that something had to be done about the shingles before it ruined the rest of our trip. The manager of our AirBnB rental in Essouria was one of the most helpful people we’ve met on this trip to date. He committed to taking me to a “local physician” in the town, who apparently was “the best doctor within a 300-km radius”, to have me fixed up pronto. I left Aila and the kids behind, and as I was being examined in his office, it quickly became evident that we had a serious “lost-in-translation” issue as he didn’t speak English and I don’t speak Arabic. Also, the fact that he was a “general physician” retired from the army and didn’t seem to have much experience with shingles didn’t help to bolster my confidence - he seemed slightly at a loss around the specific diagnosis, but not the treatment. With great authority, he sent me upstairs where I was greeted by a nurse who instructed me to take my shirt off, wear goggles, and lie face down on a treatment table. A few minutes later, I felt an intense burning on the middle of my back, and realized that I was in the middle of laser treatment. Oh my God, this is the end. This is where everything stops working in my favor...what have I gotten myself into? I was going to die in North Africa, and no one was around to deal with my body. Just as I was about to grab my shirt and run, the laser stopped, the nurse came in, bandaged me up, and said that all was “good”...well, I think that’s what she said. Amazingly, a few days later, the pain in my back had significantly diminished, and the shingle marks were less inflamed and beginning to disappear. I had escaped with my life, and my back, intact.

So what happened? Physically: The lack of circulation in my toes (perhaps from tight boots that have gotten tighter over the years from my growing bunions) lead to frostbite. The “stress” from the frostbite likely caused my autonomic nervous system to take over (i.e. more adrenaline, faster heart rate, more blood pumping to extremities), thereby triggering shingles—yikes! Mentally: I was annoyed, pissed-off, and grumpy that I wasn’t able to do the things that I wanted to do. I couldn’t be active with Aila and the kids and my usual de-stressing techniques of morning runs or workouts, was out of the question. It was a downward cycle. Emotionally: I felt vulnerable. I didn’t like being injured and not functional so far from home. The mix of physical, mental, and emotional decline was hard to mask, even on an amazing yearlong adventure.

The next few weeks of traversing through Morocco and making our way into Egypt was good healing time for me and specifically my toes. Having both sets of parents come visit in Egypt was a great distraction from the discomfort and allowed me to have some much-needed rest. I even started to exercise again, still dealing with bruised toes and a correspondingly painful bunion on my right foot. Recovery was slow and steady, and I can say with confidence that I felt 99% healed somewhere around the beginning of March, in Dubai, for the first time in two months (I won’t mention the severe head cold that was passed around our family near the end of Egypt).

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What an experience those several weeks were. Life works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it? Maybe it was the over-confidence of not having any health issues the entire front half of the trip...I was starting to take health for granted; it was truly a grounding experience, almost a not-so-subtle reminder that in life you can always “have your cake,” but not always “eat it too”. Where I am truly blessed, though, and where I would like to finish this post, is to give thanks to Aila and the kids, and the circle of amazing friends, family, and community that are always ready to provide us support at the drop of a hat.

One of Aila’s many talents is being a very effective and organized nurse. She regularly fed me my medications and expertly wrapped my toes almost on a daily basis - she always says that when she was a kid she wanted to be a doctor; she would have been a magnificent one. Thanks to Bharat and Kavi Pancholy for all the free medical consultations, and especially to Shivani Reddy (infectious disease doctor) that helped diagnose the shingles. And finally, to Haroon and Shumaila Ahmad (and Aysha too) for their overwhelmingly welcomed hospitality at their home in Dubai, where we rested well and felt completely nourished and rejuvenated, ready to move on and complete the rest of our journey. Traveling is all about unforgettable experiences, and those few months are something that will be ingrained in my mind forever.

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Note: If you are reading this post on email, click “read on” to go to the website so that you can click on picture link for the Instagram post to see the additional pictures, or visit Instagram directly from our website icon or searching @franklin_street_globetrotters . You can also see some video footage and additional pictures on the Instagram Stories of each of the countries referenced (click on the circle country flags at the top of our Instagram page).